Addictions
by xxxDuckiexxx
Summary: A Oneshot taking place in a slight AU. Sherlock is not allowed to take drugs anymore, however the abstinence of it is troublesome. John finds himself to be a substitution of the kick that Sherlock would otherwise get from his dopes. Slash.


_Addictions_

Sherlock's brain had always been prone to addictions. He had gotten far from the first taste of cigarettes when he was thirteen. He had tested several drugs; some like cigarettes enhanced his capabilities, but others like heroin or amphetamine that made his mind dazed and sluggish. He'd even tried hallucinating dopes – as LCD and Ecstasy. They were all good for different causes. However, now he wasn't allowed to take any of them. Not even the cigarettes. He breathed out a ragged breath as his fingers, which fingertips seemed hypersensitive, moved over his own underarm. Caressing the skin up from his wrist, letting his head fall back as he felt the increasing sensitivity as he applied pressure where he used to inject the delicious, the marvellous, drugs into his blood circulation. This created a wonderful placebo effect of the excitement before inserting the needle – He gave out a whimpering sound, realizing he didn't have any drugs to pollute his blood. He hadn't been clean for more than a week, and his body was stubbornly fighting against it. Before this point, Sherlock had always had the opportunity to change to another drug for compensation when the abstinence from the first one kicked in. Another quivering sigh escapades his dry parted lips and sweat was trailing down from his forehead down over his temples, travelling over his sharp cheekbones and down his cheek, though because of his tilted head it didn't continue its voyage down to his chin instead it followed the line of the jaw before dripping into the dark locks of hair that cushioned his neck.

If he would have had the choice, he thought, he knew exactly which kind of drug he would choose. He knew exactly which needle he would reach for, which cigarette he would ignite or what pill to gulp down with a glass of water. He would take any drug that would stop his racing mind. Being Sherlock Holmes' was not an easy task; being totally aware of one's surroundings wasn't always a blessing, having a greater developed mind that the usual man could be a curse and not being able to escape this prison of _boredom _was equal to torture. Sherlock Holmes would do anything, anything_, _to find any kind of substitution to his drug.

That was when a brilliant idea walked through the door. The idea in the form of a man, a quite short and broad man in his own age, with a concerned look on his face. It was John Watson, the doctor, and Sherlock's only friend. They've been friends since late childhood – Sherlock had seen John in several short-lived relationships with a broad spectrum of girls, both younger and older than himself. John had never been successful in his pursuits of finding a mate – which always had brought a smile onto Sherlock's lips. Not that he was interested in John in a similar way that the girls had been, rather that he liked when John was unoccupied because he was easier to handle. John's failures in his love life had always been ironic, since he tried so hard. Sherlock knew that John was a good man; he had known that since the day he had grabbed his wrist and appointed him assistant previous to catching their own math-teacher in the procedure of drug misuse. After that a tight friendship has prospered, a friendship that had turned out to be very beneficial for Sherlock. And he hoped that it would continue to prove itself more and more useful.

The mentioned doctor closed the door behind him, and sighed. "You're a mess Sherlock." He said, but in an affectionate tone. "It's not usual to find you in bed," He continued, and Sherlock heard how he shuffled over the floor and felt the pressure on the mattress as he sat down beside him. Sherlock opened his eyes as he felt John's cool hand touch his warm and moist forehead, prickled with droplets of sweat. He heard John's concerned sigh, and he frowned.

"If you want to help me, get me some drugs." Answered Sherlock.

"Despite I'm usually not too fond of Mycroft's methods, because he generally creeps me out, I think that this is a good idea." John stated, and leaned over Sherlock who had turned his back to Watson. "It's good that you're not going to be an addict anymore." Sherlock grunted. "Well, look at it this way. You like to be in control, right? Not being dependent on drug is a great improvement in that department. " He kept going. "And you DO know that drugs are bad for you –"

"Stop talking to me like I'm some sort of child!" Sherlock snapped as he sat up, anger flaring dangerous high in his voice. Being clean obviously made him crankier than usual.

"That would be a considerable degree easier if you stopped behaving like one." John mumbled calmly, quite used to Sherlock and his sudden outbursts. Despite not _having the slightest idea what it felt like to be him_, as Sherlock often clarified, John felt empathy for him. He didn't know how it felt, but that didn't matter. He cared for Sherlock, possibly more than he cared for anyone, and he could definitely see how troubled Sherlock was. However, he knew that this was necessary.

"Sherlock-" He said softly, caressing his shoulder with his hand as he spoke. Followed the curve of the muscle down to his elbow. "I would do anything to cease your pain right now. Anything but that, okay?" His voice was low, a soft murmur of a promise. The corner of Sherlock's lips curved upwards only slightly, as the soft sentence reached his ears. He hastily rearranged his face features though, as he turned his head to look up into John's eyes.

"I don't want to think –" Sherlock began, and could literally see how John's eyes expanded in shock. "I want to escape my own mind for a bit. That's what I desire. And don't look at me like that." He pouted, and before John could open his mouth to say 'like what' he answered him. "Like you think it's hilarious that I, who always encourage logical thinking and despise people who don't think logically, want to stop thinking. "

John could hear that Sherlock was upset, however he couldn't help but to smile smugly even though he tried to hide it. "Sorry. Just to clarify, you want to be an idiot for a bit as some sort of vacation for your mind?" John said, a brilliant little smile playing upon his lips. "Just to clarify." He was practically enjoying himself. Sherlock thought that John was enjoying himself a bit too much.

"Yeah." He said shortly.

"You're willing to confess that?" John prompted.

"I thought you were willing to do anything to decrease my pain – Not increase it." Sherlock stated, gritting his teeth slightly towards his only friend, who only smiled in return.

"I think a bit of human insight will do you well though." John mumbled, in the same soft voice he always had carried.

"Will you help me or not?" Sherlock questioned, as he propped himself up onto his elbows.

"Of course I will." John said, and nodded reassuringly again.

He did not know what he was required to do, because he had no idea what was going on inside Sherlock's simply ludicrous complicated mind. He had no idea what he had just agreed on, and when he saw Sherlock shifting into a more comfortable position which involved Sherlock's fingers slowly trailing his neck he didn't quite understand the vibes. He angled his gaze, which had been staring out of the window, down to Sherlock's eyes for some kind of hint how this oddly intimate position might soothe Sherlock's abstinence. When Sherlock's eyes proved to be as unhelpful as usual he opened his mouth to question him.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" He managed to get out, but his voice sounded more peculiar than usual – weak and seemingly out of breath.

Sherlock was gradually leaning closer as he answered, with the same tone as usual, but his gaze darted from John's eyes and lips. "I'm simply finding a substitution for distraction." The words rolled out of his mouth and before John had had the time to understand the sentence, Sherlock's lips connected with his own.

Sherlock's lips were surprisingly warm against John's, and he felt how his eyelids involuntarily fluttered shut. Much warmer than he had imagined, and _god yes_ had he imagined it, also quite unwillingly. He didn't want to like it, but it was hard not to. John had always been oddly attracted to Sherlock, despite John being sure of his sexual orientation; and he was indeed only attracted to girls, well, except for Sherlock. However, John didn't regard Sherlock as male; he was like no boy John had ever met. John knew better than anyone that one could never understand Sherlock Holmes, he was a man of mystery, and a man of mystery-solving. Maybe he was only waiting for someone clever enough to figure him out, John thought as he breathed hard through his nose. Despite him wanting this, he couldn't even try to convince himself otherwise, he wasn't sure he wanted to get involved with Sherlock. Sherlock was indeed clever, the smartest man John had ever encountered, but he was complicated and could be very rude. John could always try to not feel the pain of Sherlock's snide remarks, and could always try to cut his own emotions out of the picture. He was sure that would be impossible if he got involved with Sherlock in a romantic or sexual way – John wasn't like Sherlock, he couldn't keep his body and emotions cut off from his brain.

They broke apart, and John opened his eyes. "Sherlock." He said stiffly, trying to regain control over his own vocal chords. "What do you want with me?" He asked and ventured a glance into Sherlock's eyes. He found them closer to his own than he had expected.

"Didn't I make that clear enough?" Sherlock asked, seemingly confused.

John had to close his eyes again; Sherlock's face was distracting him. "I... don't know Sherlock." He breathed out, and could hear the other one sighing heavily, apparently growing impatient. "I don't want to be your 'plaything'. I don't-" He was silenced by a hand on his neck that pulled him down even closer to Sherlock.

"You're not. And you already know that-" He said, in a somewhat menacing manner. " Would you stop overthinking this?" He pleaded as he forcefully pressed their lips together and John decided that it was a good idea to stop thinking about what they were about to indulge in. He closed his eyes, and followed Sherlock's clear indications slowly getting on top of the considerable thinner male of the two.

John had never imagined it to be this needy and scruffy, with Sherlock practically panting after each kiss; pulling John closer by his hair, into open-mouthed kisses. Tongues battling for dominance, and Sherlock's writhing body; how he, as agile as a cat, unbuttoned his shirt and sneaked out of it without even John noticing at first. And John Watson, the doctor, gave in fully to the invitation. He moved to Sherlock's neck, nibbling at the thin skin, trailing soft wet kisses down Sherlock's jaw-line. He could feel Sherlock's right hand fisting his hair, literally pressing his head down harder unto his skin.

The sensations flooded Sherlock's mind, which had been his intention. He didn't want to think, did only want to feel John's body pressed against him. He didn't want to feel the dull aching, the creeping boredom and the tickling in his fingers that reminded him of his need of nicotine and other drugs. John's lips against his throat successfully erased all these feelings from him, and he pushed him down harder into his neck – He wanted John to do it again, harder. His free hand, which had been restlessly moving over John's back and pulling at his clothes, travelled down instead. He thoughtlessly started fumbling with his own pants, unbuttoning clumsily and kicked them down a bit. He felt how John's wonderful mouth moved away from the sensitive spot right under his ear. He suspected that John might have pulled away to say something, so he reached up and caught his mouth with his to engage into another fierce kiss. As he nibbled at John's lower lip, he fumbled with his pull-over.

"Off." He managed to get out as he pulled away to breathe. John obliged and pulled the sweater over his head, along with the t-shirt. When he got out of it, and had discarded it upon the floor, he looked down at Sherlock who was impatiently waiting. He nearly didn't recognize the Sherlock before his eyes. He lay upon his shirt, which he obviously hadn't thrown away because it would have been too tricky and complicated, and John could see his ribcage rise and fall with his heavy breaths. He let his eyes roam over the fantastic image, trying to imprint every detail into his memory; the way Sherlock's hair was ruffled, the locks reaching up to his sharp cheekbones nearly poking him in the misty eyes and the way his lips seemed to quiver everytime Sherlock inhaled or exhaled, and how the trembling travelled down through his neck to his heaving torso. When his eyes reached Sherlock's again, he could see that he was looking quite bored.

"Are you done?" He asked in a tone that resembled his usual chill one, but had a barely audible shudder to it and his grey eyes were staring intensely at John, who nodded and leaned down to kiss him again. John's lips were gentle, but Sherlock's were demanding. They were craving closeness, intimate connection. Between their heated kisses, it was John's turn to barely manage out words. "Trousers, off. " He demanded weakly, but Sherlock was happy to oblige. His pants had grown uncomfortable small during the last minutes anyway. Sherlock yanked his pants down over his hips, kicking them over the edge of the bed and watched as John got out of his own without any major problems, though he observed John's feverish movements and how his fingers were trembling as he was pulling down the zipper. His movements witnessed of nervousness, but Sherlock really didn't have the patience to deal with that. As soon as John's pants had joined his own discarded ones on the floor, he pulled him closer by throwing his arms around his neck possessively.

John fell head first into Sherlock's embrace, and in a second they were engaged in another fierce passionate kiss. John wasn't even sure which limbs were his in the confusion of entangled bodies grinding against each other. Sherlock's hands, bolder than John's, caressed the rim of the briefs that was hugging John's curves tightly. Sherlock's fingers left the exposed skin shivering, and as they travelled even more south he heard John moan into his mass of black curls. With agile fingers, Sherlock jerked the boxers down to release John's erection. Once again he could hear an immediate response into his hair, John's whimpering as cold air brushed his member. Another high-pitched moan left John's lips as a hand wrapped itself around him.

Experimentally Sherlock started to move his hand, his moments a bit jerkily as he couldn't see what he was doing and that John's weight was pressing against him lightly. John's body seemingly couldn't decide whether it would relax or tense up since it was alternating between them. His breath hitched and he buried his face deeper into Sherlock's neck, his hands started to pull at his boxers. The thinner of them two raised his hips to make it easier for him to discard the last pair of clothing he had. As soon as his boxers had joined the now increasing pile of discarded clothes unto the floor, he wrapped his arms tighter around John's shoulder, forcefully bringing him down for another kiss. This caused John to lose his balance slightly, his weight momentarily crashing onto Sherlock their hips colliding softly. John cursed into the mass of hair he had landed in, and propped himself up on his elbows clumsily, causing their hips to move against each other. The friction made Sherlock moan loudly and he clutched at John's shoulder, his legs draping themselves around John's hips so he could bring his hips up to meet John's again.

Neither of them had a consistent line of thought, instead they both acted on instinct. John buried his face into the nape of Sherlock's neck, nibbling and kissing the skin desperately while Sherlock had thrown his head back and was thrusting his hips mindlessly against John's craving and demanding the same friction as before.

They moved together, the rhythm settled as if they had done this a million times before. John felt that his arms began to ache slowly as he held himself up slightly to not prevent Sherlock from breathing. His mouth was close to Sherlock's ear, as Sherlock's was close to John's. Egged on by the moans and whimpers, they both felt how the climax was building up in an increasing speed until Sherlock rather snapped his hips forward, in frantic thrusts. John swallowed down hard, and tried to control his body. Tried to hold everything in, because he didn't want to stop. He wanted to be engulfed by this pleasure forever; But that would have been impossibly. Actually, holding in the oncoming orgasm proved to be an impossibility.

John thrust his hips forward to meet Sherlock's as the climax hit him hard. He wobbled slightly on his elbows, nearly losing his balance as the waves, more like a tsunami, of pleasure rolled over him. He felt Sherlock shiver under him, and how the legs around his hips suddenly clenched around them tighter. A strangled whine escaped Sherlock's lips as he achieved the height he had been aching for – His mind completely blank as he felt John's seed mix with his own upon his stomach. John carefully slumped down onto Sherlock, careful though to not put too much weight on top of him.

They breathed in unison, for how long neither of them could guess. It felt like an eternity, but was over too quickly as John regained his ability to think and feel. He felt how his heart, which had started to calm down, rapidly began to beat furiously fast. _What had he done? Was he completely mad? _ He thought as he breathed fast into Sherlock's ear, his eyes closed into the softness of the pillow. Sherlock heard and felt John's increasing breaths, and buried his fingers into his hair. He pulled John back, and into a kiss.

"Thank you." He breathed out, when he ceased the lip-contact. " That was… most sufficient."

**Author's note.  
>Not that content with the ending, but overall I'm very happy with it. This begun as an exercise for me, since I've never written anything about these characters. I plan on a bigger project with these two – In the same AU as this one. Just to clarify a bit – In this story John and Sherlock met when they were young. Sherlock got into drugs, but after a while Mycroft realizes and forces him to stop. John wants to help. <strong>

**Well, stay tuned for the real longer story! This is just an oneshot, a teaser and an example of my writing style. Hope you like it, please review. I might start on the bigger project faster if you do ;3 **


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